


Candy Cane Kisses

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [28]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Wish, Christmas fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ghosts of Christmas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John makes a Christmas wish, and is visited by a spirit that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Cane Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Written last year, but never posted on AO3

“I think your brother is on suicide watch for the holidays.”

John swirled the scotch in its bottle before taking a long pull. His head tilted back, brushing against the black granite grave marker. “He invited me over for drinks tomorrow night. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” A wet chuckle bubbled from his lips. “I dressed up my new flat. Bought a cd of Christmas music even. Violin. Not as good as yours.”

The scotch burned down his throat as he finished the last of the bottle.

“Come home. Please.” He reached behind himself, and traced the gold lettering with his fingertips. “Just for tonight. They’ll let you, won’t they? I can’t do this anymore. Just… I need to see you. It’s been more than half a year, and it’s going to be our anniversary soon. Help me get through another year, Sherlock.”

Choking back a sob, John stood. As always, he pressed a kiss to the curve of the stone. “I wish you were here with me.”

*

John’s new flat was near the surgery he had managed to hold a job in. It was cold and sterile, rigidly neat. There was none of the cozy, chaotic feeling of  _home_  that had come with 221b.

The doctor spent his time before bed sending emails to people he had served with, declining invitations, and listening to his cd of Christmas carols.

An hour before he turned in, he took one of his sleeping pills. As usual, he spent the remaining time awake staring longingly at the rest of the bottle.

*

It was cold in the flat, and a breeze across his face woke John slightly. Just enough to turn over and call out in a hoarse voice. “Sherlock, if you’re up, can you close the window, mate?”

“I’m sorry, John. One moment.” The reply was deep, achingly familiar, and right next to John’s head.

The bed creaked and shifted, the springs protesting as someone got up. John watched as a dark shape padded across his bedroom to shut the window. “I thought I had closed it. Better?” Sherlock crawled back into bed and spooned up behind John’s back. His hands on the man’s chest were chilled and shaking. “Go back to sleep.” Lips brushed the shell of his ear.

“I  _am_  sleeping.” John smiled, and laced his fingers with Sherlock’s. “It’s been a while since I had this dream. I miss it.”

“It’s just for tonight, John. I have to go back before morning. I’m sorry.”

The sheets whispered as John rolled over. He reached up to cup his friend’s face. “This will have to do, won’t it?” His fingertips stroked over the sharp lines on the ghost’s face. “Thank you for coming to see me. I guess you heard me wishing?”

Pain clouded Sherlock’s pale eyes, noticeable even in the low light. “I always hear when you ask me to come home. You’ve been spending too much time at my grave, John. It isn’t healthy for you. I need you to stay strong for me.” Sherlock pushed their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut. “You were always so much stronger than me. I know you can get through this. That’s why I could come back to you for tonight.”

“Do ghosts feel?” John asked, grazing his nails down Sherlock’s face. The spirit shuddered, a breath puffing past his full lips to stir against John’s neck. 

“Y-yes, John. I can feel you. I’ve missed your touches. I never noticed them, until I didn’t have them. Now, sometimes I’m stopped in my tracks by the memory of your hand brushing the back of my neck, or your thigh touching mine.”

Gently, tenderly, John rolled Sherlock onto his back, and eased himself down on top of him. He ran his fingers through his curls, twisting them. “I’m going to kiss you. I’m going to kiss you, and touch you, then we are going to make love. Then you are going to hold me until you’re gone.”

Sherlock stiffened, and bit down on his lip. Before he could speak, John made good on his promise, and settled their lips together. After a few seconds, he broke away with a laugh. “You taste like a candy cane.”

*

"It has to be a dream." John groaned, rolling his hips forward. 

A spasm rippled through Sherlock’s thighs, and he wrapped them more securely around John’s waist. His hips stuttered up to meet John. “Of course. But why?” 

"Nothing could be this perfect in real life." John bore down. He reached between them to cradle Sherlock’s length against his belly, letting it rut and grind into the warm skin there. "This amazing." He drew out slowly, swiping his thumb over the wet tip. Surging forward again, he groaned low in his throat. "This  _tight_.” 

Arching off the bed, Sherlock twisted the sheets in his hands. John kissed him, tasting sugar and peppermint.

*

“You know that I’ve always loved you, right?”

John was running his palm along Sherlock’s spine. The younger man was cuddled to his side, with his head pillowed on his heart. A long thin finger tapped to rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I think I’m beginning to understand that, now. I’m sorry I wasn’t better at showing you what you meant to me. I left it for too long.” Yawning, he squirmed, trying to get even closer. “I thought I would have more time. I thought we would have all the time in the world.”

“Tell me now.”

“I have never, and will never love anyone other than you, John.”

Tucking his arm behind his head, John closed his eyes and smiled. “Thank you. For everything. Not just for visiting tonight, but for everything. You keep saving me from myself.” Yawning as well, he turned to his side, reaching back to hold Sherlock’s hip. “Don’t wake me before you go. I want to remember just this. Not you vanishing into a bright light, or a puff of mist, or whatever. Just let me have this. Let me feel you until I fall asleep.”

“Go to sleep, John. I’ll watch over you.”

*

Christmas morning, John made a round to visit Mrs Hudson. They exchanged small gifts, as well as hugs and kisses. His old landlady commented on how refreshed he looked.

“I got a good night’s sleep.” He explained, with a half smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

That night, before heading to Mycroft’s for drinks, John did a bit of tidying. From his little coffee table, he swept up a small pile of wrappers that were scattered around a bowl of miniature candy canes.


End file.
